Thunderbirds and Shadowhunters: The Angel's Mark
by Jae and Elle
Summary: AU The ties that bind a family can never be broken. They might be tarnished, forgotten or concealed, but they can't be severed. They are made stronger through fire; creating a new whole. A true family never gives up, no matter what the cost is to save the ones they love. Even if meeting that cost means sacrificing oneself for the cause. A collab by Darkflame's Pyre and LexietFive.
1. Chapter One

_**Authors' Note:**_

_**JAE:**_** Hi there! I'm Jae…**

_ELLE:__ And I'm __Elle; otherwise known as Darkflame's Pyre and LexietFive in our individual writing._

_**JAE:**_** We're both big Thunderbirds fans,with opposing tastes; Elle likes TV-verse best, and I like the 2004 movie, but we're both appreciative of the other depiction, and are always talking about the Tracy boys in both sets of incarnations.**

**We're both also really into the Mortal Instruments and Infernal Devices book series by Cassandra Clare, and I had the thought the other day of doing a crossover story between the two archives. This was the result. We sort of decided not to put it on the site as a full crossover, as there will be very few characters from Cassandra Clare's stories, but the universe and the references that aren't related to Thunderbirds are, so please know that we own neither them or the Tracy family, and are making no money off of this story. **

_ELLE:__ Right. Now, on to other stuff. Any unknown O/Cs spotted throughout this story belong jointly to both Jae and I. This excludes one O/C that belongs solely to me, who will be revealed at a later date for the sake of the story. __I also waiver any claim on Kent Tracy and thank Jae for allowing me to play with him._

**JAE:**** Elle has already said so, but for consistency's sake I will claim Kent Tracy as being solely my property, and I ask that you seek permission should you wish to use him in any way, shape or form. I am entirely amenable to his participation in anyone's story, so long as the credit for creation goes for me, and I rather think that Elle will say the same when it comes time to introduce hers to you all. **

_***BOTH*: We hope you all enjoy it!**_

Scott Tracy grinned wolfishly as he dodged the whistling of the dagger as it flew past; his greater height over his opponent –a full five inches– allowing him to easily dodge the attack that would've otherwise led to a nasty injury.

A shout of warning came from behind him, and he whipped around just in time to catch his attacker's partner as he sprang at Scott, his arms outstretched; one palm glowing, and the other wielding a luminescent dagger.

Otherwise unprepared for the return of the first 'demon', Scott yelped as his legs were suddenly swept from beneath him, laughter suddenly erupting from those both behind and on top of him, and drowning out his loud cursing.

"What was that for?" Scott gasped, the weight of his third brother almost crushing his ribcage. "I was only going against Virge!" He glared at the blonde teenager standing across the room.

John, Scott's first younger brother was pale haired, with fair features to Scott's dark; wearing a smirk that Scott was finding increasingly annoying. He was flipping a set of almost key-like barbs between his fingers, and narrowed his eyes playfully, despite his stance being almost bored as he slouched against the far wall.

Not allowing for the blonde to answer (though he probably wouldn't have anyway, because John was a smartass when it didn't count), the twin sitting on Scott's chest smirked at him, waving his blade in his face. "He died." Kent said bluntly, gesturing towards John. "Virgil and I tag-teamed him, you were too confused to realise that Virg used a Projection."

Flicking his eyes towards the aforementioned boy, Scott grimaced as Kent's twin twiddled his fingers playfully at him, a smirk on his lips as he sat cross-legged on the training-room floor, just beyond where Scott's head was; making the older boy crane his neck to see him.

John's cool voice spoke up as Scott resumed mouthing off, furious at being caught out by his less experienced younger siblings.

"I'd watch your mouth, Big Brother, if I were you. You don't want Little Ears over there to go running to Grandma do you? Surely you've eaten enough soap by now!"

Scott looked up, frowning as John pushed the 'demon' off of Scott's torso and extended a hand to pull him to his feet.

Side by side they couldn't look more different; Scott so dark, and John so very fair. A year apart, the two of them were the oldest brothers, and aside from their grandfather, they were the protectors of their three younger siblings.

"Haha, Scotty got caught!" a childish little treble suddenly exclaimed; the echoes bouncing from high ceiling to hardwood floor.

The four combatants turned to the corner of the room, where 'Little Ears', otherwise known as Alan, the youngest Tracy brother sat watching.

Scott stalked across the room towards him, coming to an abrupt halt and crossing his arms in slight annoyance. "I did _not_ get caught!" He said hotly. "I allowed it to happen. You have to prepare for all possibilities, Allie."

Three howls of laughter accompanied this. "Sure you did, Scott," Virgil chuckled.

"He'll be informing us next that he just wanted to inspect the floor for cracks!" John smirked.

Scott's cheeks flushed a dull red, but he held his head high. He'd show them later. He'd bet anything that John had told the twins to gang up on him. There hadn't been a scratch on the oldest blonde to corroborate his story. He fumed silently.

Scott swore again, under his breath. Alan's eyes widened. "Scotty! That's a bad word! Grandma said so."

Scott's eyes narrowed. "Allie, how many times do we have to tell you what happens in the training room, stays in the training room, so no running to Grandma, okay?"

Alan grinned cheekily. "But Grandpa's in charge of training, Scott. Grandma tells him everything, and you know we can't lie to him either! Anyway, he always says that he needs to know what we've done so he can tell you what to teach me next!"

Scott glared at the little imp. Alan had been spending too much time with both Kent and John, for him to have been able to come back with a retort so swiftly.

Virgil's hand landed on his shoulder, coming from behind, and Scott turned to look his second brother in the eyes, calming instantly. He was taller than Kent by two inches, but other than that, the two fifteen year olds, with their curly chestnut hair and dark hazel eyes, were entirely identical, down to the freckles across their noses and cheeks. The older twin's eyes were focused on Alan's though, as he spoke.

"Yes, Alan. Grandpa is in charge of training, but you have to learn that when we are out in the field, we are a team."

"Which means working as one, together to defeat the enemy." Kent chimed in, cheekily. "Just so happens that this time, the enemy was Scott."

"I'm bored though!" Alan whined. "You four have each other to fight and spar with. I'm always left out with nothing to do. It sucks to be so much younger than you. Oh, why did Gordon have to die?" He crossed his arms, grumpily.

"Hey, Al, don't talk of Gordy that way! The kid didn't ask to be vaporised you know! Neither did Mom and the baby. And Dad… We all miss them." Virgil spoke up, a frown creasing his brow.

"Yeah." John stated. "And some of us actually remember them as people. Not just names, so quit griping, kid, and let's back to work."

Alan's face clouded over, his lips twisting into a pout; looking out of place with his angelic looks of sunny blond curls and big blue eyes.

Abruptly, his eyes turned navy blue and seemed to literally spark, flashing unnaturally as he glared at his brothers.

"I'm sick of it!" Alan suddenly screamed. "I'm sick of being the one left out, the one who always gets bossed around! I'm sorry Gordy died, but I'm me, me, me, _me_!" He sprang from the chair and bolted towards the door, his sneakered feet squeaking as he skidded across the hardwood, fleeing like the hounds of Hell were on his heels.

Heart beating rapidly in his chest, going to dart forward himself, Scott skittered to an abrupt halt, and forced himself to wait as Kent threw himself at his youngest brother, catching the thin-shouldered boy around the waist. Scrabbling for purchase on the floor, Kent scooped him up into his arms, and holding Alan close to his body, allowed the little boy to clearly hear the sound of his pulse; trying to quell Alan's instinct of flight, a natural response to the battle being waged in his mind.

Alan was still thrashing angrily about in his grip though, and Scott winced as one of his littlest brother's hands caught a handful of Kent's hair and pulled sharply, no doubt tearing a few of the thick chestnut strands directly from the scalp. Scott watched as Kent sank to the ground, pulling Alan's head forcibly back against his chest, making soothing noises in a concentrated effort to calm him down.

He was the only one out of all four older brothers who was able to talk Alan down after the demonic influence became too strong for the boy to be able to handle on his own; not even Scott himself was able to do it. None of them had any idea on how it worked, but Scott only knew that they were all thankful that it did. Scott personally had the theory that it was an effect of the neutralising influence that Kent had over the rest of their gifts, but he didn't have enough proof to be sure yet.

It took a little while for Alan's inarticulate shouts to fade into sobs and then whimpers, by which time Kent's arms appeared to have locked into position. As he glanced back at Scott, Virgil and John, where they were standing a few yards behind him, Kent's shoulders relaxed, and Scott realised that their littlest brother had fallen asleep in his lap.

Kent mouthed the same to Virgil, who —already reading between the lines in Kent's movements— had already moved forward to pick Alan up in his arms. Though looking remarkably slender and frail, Virgil was much stronger than he looked; all of them did through the training they all shared.

Scott watched warily as Virgil swiftly left the room with his precious burden, presumably to seek out their grandfather, and the draughts that he often administered to Alan to help him sleep off the exhaustion associated from fighting with the two sides of himself.

Scott knew that in reality, Alan's episodes of rage and anger weren't truly his little brother, but an effect of the demon poison the boy had been fed when he was a toddler. It never ceased to shock him though, how the normally sweet ten-year-old boy could turn into a monster with the slightest provocation, literally.

As the heavy wooden door closed soundlessly behind Virgil, Scott's eyes flickered back across to Kent, who was still sitting slumped on the floor, seemingly not ready to move yet.

He was leaning back against the wall, breathing heavily, eyes shut tight as he grimaced, and as Scott watched, he pulled his knees up against his chest, resting his head atop his arms and buried his face in the material of his sleeves.

John was nowhere to be seen.

Treading softly over to his younger brother, Scott squatted down in front of him. "Hey, Kent." He murmured, "Better head for your room and lie down before Grandma sees you've gotten yourself worked up again."

He laid a hand on his brother's shoulder, only to be startled to realise how badly Kent was shaking.

"Come on, KT… I'll take you there myself."

Kent shrugged his arm off.

"Kent." Scott frowned, "Are you o-"

Kent lifted his head and glared at him, his face pale and his hair damp with sweat. He looked awful.

"Scott, back off and stop smothering me, okay? You're not Dad or Mom, and you never will be! Just because you're the oldest doesn't make you the boss of me! Stop being such a bloody mother-hen and go and bother someone else, I'm fine!"

That did it. Scott's temper, always lurking beneath the surface, and more wound up than usual by Kent's constant remarks on _everything_, flared up. With an inarticulate growl, he leapt at Kent, crashing down on his brother's legs, almost before he'd made the conscious decision to move at all.

He wasn't intentionally trying to hurt him, because he knew that his grandfather would have his head if he let his emotions get out of control, but he'd decided that his younger brother could do with being taken down a peg or two._  
_

It was harder than usual to keep his emotions in check though; first because of his embarrassment at being tricked by his younger brothers, then Alan's episode, and now the humiliation of having a brother tell him that he wasn't wanted… They all combined to loosen Scott's hold on his normally iron-clad control.

To his horror, Scott felt his canines lengthening, and his jaw beginning to move out of alignment as the first flashes of the transformation began. He felt a flash of true fear for his brother's safety tear through him like Angel fire, and felt his eyes widen in terror.

_What have I done?_


	2. Chapter Two

_**A/N: **__**BOTH:**__** Hiya, we're back again.**_

_**We would just like to thank anyone who has taken the time to read this at all, and an extra big thank you to those who have reviewed/followed/faved this experiment of ours. To anyone who finds this too different for their tastes; well if we don't try anything new, then we'd never learn, but thank you for reading anyway. **_

_**Anyway, on to Chapter Two. **_

**Disclaimer: This is a crossover between the Shadowhunter Chronicles and the Thunderbirds. The universe and the references that aren't related to Thunderbirds are from the Shadowhunter Chronicles, so please know that we own neither them nor the Tracy family, and are making no money off of this story. **

**Enjoy.**

Kent twisted in alarm as Scott's body started shaking rigidly, feeling the needle-sharp points of claws on his shoulders, where his brother's fingers should've been.

That could mean only one thing... He'd done it again. He'd gone and pushed his brother too far…

Kent gazed up in horror and saw furry ears and a rapidly changing nose and jawline as they elongated; sharp teeth bared at him in a canine grin. Kent breathed out slightly in relief, because Scott's eyes were still cobalt blue — confirmation that he was still in control. For the moment, at least.

Even as he took that information in, Scott was Changing; his hair growing thick and shaggy-looking, and travelling all over his body as Kent watched. A throaty, rumbling growl ripped from his throat, and suddenly, Scott's eyes were flecked with amber tints, quickly becoming pure bronze in colour.

Kent pressed himself back against the wall, truly afraid now. Amber eyes and growling, not vocalised words, meant Scott was rapidly losing control in his anger at Kent.

He had really done it this time. What could he do? Kent was still too weak to use his gift to neutralise the transformation, still depleted as he was from calming Alan. To use it now risked cardiac arrest.

He resorted to losing face instead.

"John!" he yelled frantically. "Help! Scott's losing control! Get out here!"

A clattering noise came from the adjoining weapon room. _So that's where John disappeared to_, Kent thought, managing to fumble his _Kindjal _dagger from his forearm sheath, and cracking the wolf hard on the side of the muzzle with it. It wasn't going to do much to harm wolf-Scott, but it worked perfectly well as a means of distraction.

The oak door swung open as Kent's older blonde brother burst through it, swinging heavy silver chains in his hands.

Kent watched as best he could through a faceful of black fur as John launched himself at Scott, aiming to wrap the chains around him in an effort to render him helpless until the shape-shifting Shadowhunter could regain his control.

Adamas was one of the toughest materials in the known world, even more so than diamond, and was magical in nature, used to create the majority of their Order's weapons. When set against the one-eighth faerie blood the Tracy brothers had in their genes, the substance-fashioned chains would be enough to counteract the supernatural nature of Scott's forced metamorphosis. Theoretically.

No doubt sensing the threat that the chains represented, the wolf whipped his fully-formed head and front right leg around, and delivered John a hard, glancing blow to the upper chest, sending him flying across the room. He hit the wall with a terrifying cracking sound, catching the side of his head hard, before sliding to the floor; completely unconscious.

Kent gulped in panic at that, and he twisted instinctively to try and avoid Scott's next lunge. His reflexes were dulled as a result of his fatigue, and he was too late to stop the descent of the claws as they swiped his right shoulder, leaving stinging, but relatively shallow cuts in their wake.

Barely ten seconds had passed since Scott had landed on him, and his older brother was almost three quarters through the change. The fact that it was taking so long, when it was usually only a matter of two or less, was an indication that his brother was still fighting against the compelling nature of the anger-fuelled transformation, somewhere in his mind.

Too bad he was losing.

As he stiffened and rolled to the left —Scott's claws barely missing his right cheek— Kent seriously considered attempting to neutralise Scott's power with his own. Honestly, a heart attack might kill him, but this fight, if it continued certainly would. He'd rather the quickest and least painful route.

He was mentally and physically exhausted as he rolled again, but not quickly enough. Kent screamed aloud in agony as Scott's jaws connected with his upper right arm, the claws on Scott's right leg catching a simultaneous, lacerating blow down the right side of Kent's chest.

Even without thinking about it, Kent's inner mind screamed one word, shatteringly loud and piercing with the intense pain. _VIRGIL_!

Panicked over the unknown condition of the unconscious John, and the fact that he was getting bruised and bloodied quite badly himself —the cuts burning like acid— Kent was therefore completely unprepared when he suddenly found himself with an entirely different view in front of his eyes, surprised that his telepathic cry had actually worked through his exhaustion and pain.

The edges of the image were hazy; and there was no sound at all, but there was a dizzying, split-second view of his grandfather's face, tanned and weathered, before Kent suddenly saw himself, struggling uselessly against the huge black-furred wolf atop him.

Kent could still feel the pain of bites and claws against his flesh, happening over and over again as he rolled away from the hot breath and crushing weight for a moment, managing somehow, to use his dagger to try and injure Scott enough so that his anger would be broken, but it was a fruitless endeavour. He felt himself rapidly weakening, muscles trembling even as his view changed again, back to Grant's face.

Seeing the vision through his twin's eyes as he was, Kent knew that Virgil was telling their grandfather what they had just seen, but there wasn't any time for Kent to experience more of his brother's concurrent clairvoyance, before the image was broken; flinging him back into his own mind with a cry of agony.

Time seemed to be almost standing still as Kent literally fought for his life against slashing claws and sharp teeth. He aimed a solid kick into Scott's soft belly, sending the wolf skidding to the side, allowing Kent to get his feet underneath him, if barely.

There was a whining noise from his older brother, but the eyes were still wide amber, and there were harsh snarls ripping from Scott's throat as Kent was knocked to the floor again; cringing as his brother's jaws closed around his left wrist and shook him wildly.

Kent found himself getting more and more terrified with every moment that passed, wishing he was strong enough to gain his feet like he'd been taught, while simultaneously hating the fact that he was going to have to be rescued, when he should've been fully capable of defending himself.

He was now literally trembling with the effort it was taking to fight his brother off, and even after only a few minutes of doing so, Kent was terrified that Scott was going to end up killing him this time, and that was something that he'd hate his brother to have on his conscience.

And it would be entirely Kent's fault.

Kent had always had a flair for the dramatic, held in evidence by his quips and frequent practical jokes, but though he did take over-exaggeration a little too far at times, he had to truthfully say that this was one of the few things that truly terrified him. Scott seemed unstoppable right now, and Kent was close to giving up.

"Scott James Tracy!" The voice that made Kent jump literally out of his skin, and simultaneously distracted the wolf, was full of command and power.

The sound of his full name, spoken by the person who was, in essence, the leader of what Scott would refer to as their 'pack', seemed to jerk the humanity in the boy back to the forefront of his mind, with the undeniable order of the alpha behind it.

Kent laid there, energy spent, fatigue claiming him totally, so worn out that he could barely move. Above him, the wolf snarled and howled. Howled? Kent squinted up at the massive black body, making eye contact, he was startled to see blue returning into Scott's eyes; his brother was returning slowly…

The wolf howled again making a sound that projected out as "Noo-o-o-oh,"

Miraculously, the irises abruptly slipped back to dark blue, and Kent saw a flash of shattered comprehension there, before the wolf turned and skittered away from him.

Then, much quickly than it had been instigated, the Change began to reverse. Fur shrank back into sweat-darkened skin, and the paws reverted gradually back into hands and feet.

The last vestiges of the canine animal vanished, leaving behind a naked, sweat-soaked and horrified eighteen-year-old, sitting on the floor nine feet away; his head in his hands, shaking with a combination of shock and clear self-loathing.

Kent watched as Scott lifted his eyes to look around the room, his face taking on a look of sheer horror as he took in John lying on the floor and Kent himself, not far in front of him; cut and bleeding, panting, and so pale in colour.

Scott looked down at himself, and then in one swift leap, as Kent looked on anxiously, the oldest boy bounded to his feet, screaming a growling yelp that sounded suspiciously like 'nooooo', once again. Transforming instantly back into the ebony wolf, the young shape-shifter whipped around and shot out of the door; head hung low on his furry body, brushing roughly past Grant Tracy as he fled

Kent watched as his grandfather went out again into the passage to check which way the wolf had gone, before turning around, closing the door firmly behind him.

Kent went to raise himself up on his hands as his grandfather approached, but he collapsed instead as they shook heavily beneath his weight, making him hiss between his teeth as the already-clotting slices in his flesh were forced open with the movement.

Grant, his face expressionless, checked Kent thoroughly; the young man meanwhile silently refusing to look anywhere except his scarred and bleeding hands. Finishing his quick examination, handing his grandson a wad of cloth to hold against the gash that was painting the side of his white shirt scarlet, Kent's grandfather curtly proclaimed that he would live, before ordering him to sit right where he was and not move a single inch.

Kent kept his gaze fixedly on the still-bleeding cuts and scratches, frozen in place. His cheeks were burning as much as the stinging slashes on his arms and torso, as he heard Grant move over to John. He looked up to see the older man taking John's pulse, and then carefully pulling the blonde teen's shirt up to expose an already-bruising torso. Kent turned away, not wanting to look at how terribly tender his brother's chest looked.

Kent had known his whole life just how tenuous his oldest brother's grip was on his anger; Scott's entire life was a battle against the wild and just about uncontrollable nature of the wolf that was both gift and curse, and yet, Kent always found himself trying to push his brother as far as he could before he snapped. Grant had every right to be as livid as he was with him right now.

He just couldn't seem to help himself, though. Kent knew though that if he didn't stop one day, his brother would eventually end up injuring him permanently, if not actually accidentally taking his life. He'd even gotten John caught in the crossfire this time, and that was unacceptable. The seventeen-year-old would hopefully be okay (he had to be okay, because Scott would never forgive himself if he'd permanently injured any of his brothers), but Kent couldn't bring himself to look yet, to face the consequences of what his stupidity had caused.

He heard a slight grunt, and snapped his head up to watch Grant carry John's lanky form across the room. Kent's grandfather shot him a stern look over his shoulder, and the boy nodded rapidly, lowering his head onto his arms and gripping his hair to cease the shaking in his hands.

He must have sunk into some sort of quasi-shocked state, because it wasn't until rough, work-callused fingers lifted his chin up that Kent realised that his grandfather had taken John out of the training room completely. Kent wouldn't know about John's state of health unless he asked, and he wouldn't yet, not until he'd heard out what his grandfather had to say.

"What in the name of the Angel possessed you, Kent Thomas?' Grant demanded angrily, as Kent met his gaze. Now he'd taken care of John, the older man was free to blow his top at Kent; the boy knew that he deserved it.

'You know damn well not to rile up your brother; you've grown up with him, know what sets him off. You know that he's not able to control how he reacts! You're damned lucky you're just cut up and bruised; were you any weaker, were you not armed; your brother would've just become your murderer! One day it might be more than cuts and teeth marks, one day you might not survive, and you know perfectly well what that will do to Scott."

Blinking up at Grant, whose mismatched eyes were a distinct feature that were a legacy of their faerie-born great grandmother, Grants mother, Kent could only shrug, having no proper answer to give his grandfather, who would know if he was lying instantly. The five boys had inherited it in much stronger quantities (Downworlder traits were often more prominent the further the line of descendants progressed) than either their father or grandfather. Kent wasn't at all surprised to see a look of hard anger in Grant's gaze, lined with an equal amount of relief. He was in so much trouble; he knew that only too well.

Seeming to take Kent's non-response as confirmation of his suspicions, Grant looked him over carefully, thankfully finding nothing but the deep gash on the side of his torso to worry about. He'd really done it this time, he knew.

He looked at his grandson grimly. "Looks like you're gonna ache and sting for a bit, and I'm almost tempted to let you heal the mundane way, just to see if that will teach you the lesson that no one else can, it seems."

With that he bent and helped Kent to his feet, supporting him over to the chair that Alan had not long ago vacated.

"Now, you sit there until Virgil comes back." Grant told him firmly. "…and then he can help you to your room, where you are going to go to bed and bless the Angel's grace that you weren't seriously hurt this time.' Kent nodded morosely, before his grandfather lifted his chin again, his gaze a little more gentle as Grant sensed his fourth grandson's tumultuous emotions.

"John will be fine. He's only been needlessly injured because you can't control yourself, but he's going to be alright. I hope the two of you apologise to him later, you've caused him three cracked ribs and I'm not sure whether he's got a cracked cheekbone too. I know that Scott will do it anyway, and that it's not entirely his fault, but you know I expect more from you, Kent Tracy."

Kent felt a flash of intense guilt. It was undoubtedly a relatively minor injury, but even with the healing marks, John was going to be in a lot of pain for a few days.

"I'm going to check on Scott." Grant told him. 'If I'm not mistaken he's bolted to the attic again. I'll be along to see to you soon, so be sure to be in your room when I get there."

"Yes, Grandpa… I'm sorry."

"We will talk about this later, Kent." Grant told him sharply. "When Scott's fully himself and you and John are up and about. With one thing or another, the four of you older ones are definitely spending time in your rooms today."

With that he strode out of the door, the heavy panelling closing it behind him with a sound of finality.

Kent put his head in his hands and tried not to let the tears come.


	3. Chapter Three

_**A/N: This is a crossover between Thunderbirds and The Shadowhunter Chronicles. As always we do not own either and we make no profit on it. We just play with them and return them unharmed (mostly).**_

_**Chapter 3 is especially dedicated to a very enthusiastic convert Sam1 for all her interest. Hope you enjoy it, honey! Now onto Chapter Three!**_

Virgil strode down the corridor, coming to a stop outside the training room door. He ran his fingers through his chestnut curls and chewed nervously on his lower lip. His grandfather had ordered him to escort his younger identical twin, Kent to his room.

Although Grant had told him in no uncertain terms that Kent wasn't severely hurt, Virgil couldn't shake the visions of what he had seen out of his mind. He shook his head and pushed open the door to see Kent sitting in Alan's chair, head in hands. Virgil couldn't see his face, but he knew his brother too well; even without their twin-to-twin telepathy and their other powerful, combined gifts. Virgil knew that Kent was only just holding back the tears.

The older boy decided this was one time he wouldn't speak aloud. Forming the words in his mind, he pushed those outwards to connect with Kent's. _Come on KT, let's go. Grandpa's orders: I'm to take you to your room now._

He put his arm around his brother's slender, quivering shoulders and helped him to his feet, finding that he had to slip his arm down to his brother's waist to support him to stand, as Kent's entire body shook with exhaustion and remorse.

As they left the training room, Virgil felt a little pulse run through his head, and he heard Kent's voice transmit through his thoughts. _Virge, what have I done? I was so tired and stressed I never stopped to think who I was talking to, who it was, until I'd done it._ Kent's inner voice choked on a sob. _Get me to our room quick, before I disgrace myself even further._

Virgil quickened his steps as much as Kent could bear, hurrying through the corridors of their home until they reached the big double-roomed suite that belonged to the two of them.

Taking Kent in through the door marked with a door plaque spelling out _Kent's Room_ in colourful letters, that Virgil himself had made him as a gift a few years ago, he sat his twin down in the overstuffed, squashy-looking green armchair, whilst Virgil bustled about finding clean pyjamas.

Virgil turned around from this self-imposed task to see Kent with his eyes squeezed shut, tears silently streaming down his cheeks. He rushed to sit by his brother and hold him as Kent would only ever allow Virgil to do.

Biting his lip again as Kent buried his scratched and bloodied face onto his twin's welcoming shoulder, Virgil let him cry unchecked for a few minutes. Then, bearing in mind that their grandfather would be arriving soon, he quietly pushed Kent upright again. "Best get out of those clothes before Grandpa gets here, bro. He won't like it if you're not ready for him when he gets here now, will he?"

Virgil watched as Kent nodded and stood up, and not quite as shakily as before, picked up his nightwear. He headed for the door to the adjoining bathroom that both sat between and connected the twins' bedrooms, still holding the cloth wadded against his side. Virgil followed him into the small common area they shared, leaning wearily against the wall outside the door.

While Kent was busy, Virgil found his thoughts wandering to other places. He wondered if Grandpa had found Scott with any success, and hoped desperately that if he had, he had managed to console Scott even slightly.

Scott was the only one of the siblings that had inherited their late mother's family gift of shape-shifting, and to be honest, Virgil considered with relief, it was not a gift that he would like to have. It made him all the more thankful for his own psychic gifts. He may have cursed them occasionally and regretted having them more often than that, but Virgil would much rather take his own clairvoyance and empathic telepathy over ever having anything remotely resembling Scott's gift. In fact Virgil mused; it was more like a curse.

Scott was the only one in known family history who had ever primarily shifted into an animal, and a wolf, no less. Yes, Scotty certainly had had terrible, heart rending battles to control and utilise his gifts; controlled by his emotional states, anger in particular. They had been made even harder by the untimely death of their mother and second-youngest brother eight years ago, preceded by their father's loss a mere seven months before that.

Virgil visibly shuddered remembering those awful times both because of those losses, and also the frequency of occasions that the wolf had shown up because the then ten-year-old Scott couldn't cope with his grief and despair.

Virgil was shaken out of his musings by Kent coming out of the bathroom, pyjama bottoms on, t-shirt in hand. Being in this state revealed Kent's slender, frail-looking torso: scratched and wounded, scarred with faded rune markings and the black, inked-on permanent ones; still looking as dark and glossy as they had on the day they had been put there.

And the worst of all there was the one, wicked looking, multiply-opened, half-faded white scar running down the centre of his chest; just about the only remaining visual reminder of the heart surgeries the Silent Brothers had performed on Kent throughout his infancy and childhood.

As he gazed upon that scar, almost as white as the thick pad fastened clumsily on Kent's side, Virgil suddenly found annoyance bubbling up within him. Anger at how reckless his twin could sometimes be with the very precious gift of life given to him, fought for by all who loved him so that he might survive, suddenly rising. Virgil was always afraid that one day, with his almost uncaring sense of danger Kent might unwittingly throw away everything the family had done to keep him alive, by risking death at Scott's unwilling claws.

Not actually wanting to cause his twin brother physical pain, but still wanting to impress on him how completely stupid his actions had been, Virgil extended his hands outwards from his body as Kent pulled his sleep-shirt down, and turned around to grab his hairbrush from where it sat on the dresser against the wall. Various other items of both boys' belongings were crowded there, like a few of Virgil's paintbrushes and one of Kent's discarded toe shoes.

Virgil suppressed a smirk. Grandma would have his twin's head if she saw shoes on the furniture. Kent kept his back towards Virgil; both leaving him as a target to Virgil's annoyance, and simultaneously adding to it, for a reason the older boy didn't truly want to understand.

Virgil's hands glowed subtly purple this time -not blue like his defensive manoeuvre back in the training room- offensive and also slightly invasive as a result of his anger. The streams of magic, imbued with the sense of Virgil's frustration and remembered fear flowed from his hands to be absorbed by his brother's body, making the outline of Kent's form flare momentarily.

Kent immediately stiffened; his hands clenching white against the wood of the dresser, and Virgil could see his brother's jaw tighten as Virgil's emotions engulfed Kent's own.

His brother lifted his head, turning to look Virgil in the eyes; his teary gaze a mix of shame, apology and irritation, the green of the hazel irises more prominent with the strength of the emotions that were flashing there.

Virgil felt a flash of fleeting guilt at the knowledge that Kent already felt awful for what he'd done to Scott, and John by extension, but these incidents were not only becoming more frequent, but were also escalating in their intensity, and Virgil was sick of having to watch the fallout.

Kent was slightly immature and reckless, and had a shocking tendency to speak harshly and bluntly before he thought, but Virgil truly thought that his twin brother should know enough of how his own behaviour affected others, in order to grow up, at least slightly.

Kent obviously saw that assessment of his most recent behaviour in his eyes, because he gave Virgil a hard look of combined hurt and guilt, before stalking back into his bedroom and closing the door firmly, a clear sign that his brother was mad at him.

Virgil sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck with his palm; his hands still tingling from the bit of power with which he'd directed the empathy at his brother. He'd probably not reacted the way he should have, because like himself, Kent was both exhausted and mentally drained, and was clearly feeling significantly more irritable than usual as a result of the use of his powers, but there was also a part of Virgil that really couldn't care less.

His brother had been an idiot today, and when Virgil had seen that vision of Scott on top of him, and John unconscious on the floor, he had been terrified that he was going to lose all three of them in one fell swoop.

He might not have potentially lost Scott in a physical sense, but definitely in an emotional one, because if Kent and John had been killed, Scott would've immediately put the guilt for that on his own head, not even thinking of blaming Kent for his loss of control.

Virgil couldn't bear to lose his remaining siblings, he just couldn't. They'd lost so much already.

That thought was intensified when the tall, lithe figure of his grandfather strode through the open doorway; preceded by the sounds of extremely light footsteps that were a result of Shadowhunter training, usually commenced when a Nephilim child was six years old.

Looking like a much older version of Scott, Grant had grey-streaked black hair; the mismatched grey and violet eyes, beneath dark brows the only difference between them, aside from age itself. Virgil hid the pang of sadness that always appeared when he saw his grandfather, because the boys' late father Jeff had been a carbon copy of Grant Tracy too; down to but not including the brown eyes that Virgil and Kent had both inherited from him.

The green had appeared at the Parabatai ritual when they were fourteen years old, and it was a visual representation, aside from the accompanying rune-mark, of the powers that they'd received from each other at the ceremony.

Virgil knew that his grandfather was aware of his emotions; along with the ability to instantly know if someone was lying to him, a trait that the faerie blood provided, because in addition to that second trait, Grant was a low-level Empath.

It was a muted version of what Virgil himself was able to do, along with his projections, and the much less desirable skill of pain infliction, and Grant had been instrumental in teaching the young man about how to use his talents without growing to relish the strong emotions that emanated from his opponents when it was used. It was also part of why he was able to sense that his siblings were in trouble, even without the concurrent clairvoyance he was so closely linked with Kent that he had been able to sense his brother's anguish, even as the vision was taking hold. It was duly strengthened by the inducement gift; the heightened sense of being able to 'feel' the pain of those afflicted always gave him a peculiar feeling; a curious mix of both euphoria and deep-seated horror.

It was so easy to become addicted to that feeling of power, repugnant as it was, and if not for Virgil's strong moral compass, things might very well have turned out very differently for the young Shadowhunter.

The only time he could truly unleash his power in that gift was on the demonic creatures that their order fought on a frequent basis, and as much as it scared him, using them as often as he did, Virgil also had to admit that it was freeing and cathartic at the same time.

It was dangerous for him to have learned the use of that particular talent, especially with the restrictive, imposing Laws of the Clave; the Shadowhunters' governing body, but if he hadn't, it could've been a disaster, especially combined with his gift of being able to create illusions. Virgil's recent imposition of his powers on Kent was a facet of that, and the teenager already felt guilty about it, although there was still a part of him that insisted that it was very justly deserved in light of his brother's indiscretion.

His emotions were usually much more tightly controlled than this, but with all the stress of what had happened in one short hour, as well as the feeling that he'd just been rejected by his Parabatai; his other half and the brother he partnered with in their battles against demons and rogue Downworlders, Virgil knew that his feelings were leaking past his carefully-constructed mental walls, enough for his grandfather to be able to pick them up, a relatively unusual occurrence.

Grant was instantly at his side, knowing immediately that his grandson's emotions were at boiling point. Always the most sensitive and emotional of all the boys, even Kent and Alan, it was all Virgil could do not to burst into tears as the he was pulled into his grandfather's rough embrace; fighting the fear, frustration and infinite sadness that had been present since their mother and father had been killed, along with their second-youngest brother, and unborn baby sister.

Grant and Ruth Tracy had raised them since the demon had massacred them all, but there were numerous emotional wounds in all of the remaining Tracy children that needed to be healed. It was a long process, and it often felt to Virgil, with the overload of emotions he got from his brothers any time things were even remotely stressful, even through the protection of his shields, that it would never, ever stop.

Why did life have to be so unfair?


	4. Chapter Four

**A/N: Hi! Here we are, back again!**

**Disclaimer: We would like to point out that right now this story is a fusion fic; of Thunderbirds characters in the Shadowhunters' universe. We don't call it a crossover, as no characters from the Shadowhunter books as yet appear, (if they even will at all). If that happens, we will of course, name it as one.**

**We are just having fun experimenting with the Tracys in a new setting and thank you all for reading/reviewing.**

**Now let's move onto Chapter Four!**

John opened his eyes; it looked like he was in a pitch black tunnel patterned with a whirling vortex of spinning coloured lights. As he sat up, he realised to his astonishment, that they reminded him of his beloved stars. One glowing, purple light in particular seemed to dance around, beckoning him to follow it.

With nowhere else to turn, John thought he might as well do so. He set off down the glowing tunnel with swift, light footsteps. He had walked a little way when he noticed something different. He wasn't entirely sure, but he thought the tunnel was growing brighter and clearer.

"What in the Angel's name is going on here?" He spoke out, somewhat bewildered. Looking ahead in the vortex he saw shimmering white light, so he walked on and through it, finding to his utter surprise that it ended in a room; a child's bedroom, in fact.

As he gazed around the walls and fully took in his surroundings, John was astounded to discover he knew this room; he had known it intimately at one time.

The small bed with its blue linens and the matching curtains, the posters and paintings of stars, planets and space rockets on the walls; the glowing witchlights on the black painted ceiling… It was his childhood bedroom.

Oh, how he had loved this room, and had begged for it to be decorated so. His beloved room; the one he had had no choice but to give up when Scott's transformations became too frequent and severe for his grandparents to allow John to stay in the adjoining room. It was actually the same set-up that Virgil and Kent had still. In compensation, Grant and Ruth had given him his attic suite with the tall windows and glass skylights, but oh how he had missed this place.

John stood there, tears in his eyes as he remembered his mother painting the stars and rockets on the walls, and his father putting the witchlight stars on his newly-painted black ceiling.

Within a month of that particular memory, his father had died confronting the demon responsible for kidnapping and poisoning Alan with his venomous blood before returning the sick toddler to his parents, and then their mother had died not seven months after. To this day, John didn't understand why the demon had done that and not just murdered Alan outright. The same spawn of Hell had returned and slaughtered his mother and little brother, casting the family into some very dark times.

He didn't want to see what he knew was coming next, what had haunted his memories from the moment it had occurred, and he had woken up next to Scott and the twins in the aftermath of the Greater Demon's attack. It was inevitable though; the dream was always the same, and nothing John did could ever prevent it from happening.

As John now knew it would, history replayed itself.

Seven-year-old Virgil burst into his room without even knocking.

"Johnny! Johnny, Mommy says we have to hide! We have to go to the secret room, now! Scotty's in charge! He's fetching the babies, he sent me to get you!"

Virgil grabbed John's nine-year-old self by the hand and started tugging him, allowing the seventeen-year-old John to feel the sudden, disorienting sensation of having shrunk to accommodate his younger frame. "Come on!"

John obeyed his brother and ran, grabbing Kent's hand as they passed him down the hall, on their way to the hidden trapdoor, his memory playing out within his mind, dragging his 'limbs' along with it.

"Mommy says the demon's coming." Kent chattered, as they met Scott at the corridor that led to the basement. The oldest boy was carrying a sleepy Alan on one arm and pulling a struggling, cranky four-year-old Gordon by the hand.

"Wants Mommy!" Gordon whined. "Where's Mommy?"

John couldn't take his eyes off the little boy, knowing now, as none of the other children did yet, what was to happen to the red-haired, freckle-faced, boy with the odd eyes of brown and green. John blinked back tears; knowing this was to be Gordon's last hour alive.

_I'm so sorry, little brother… So sorry we failed you._

The words repeated on a loop in John's mind, as he suddenly blinked, and the scene suddenly changed to the six of them hiding behind the door concealed in the wall; their weapons' room -the place dark but for the slivers of daylight through the wood- illuminating strips across their faces.

There were loud bangs, crashes and yells, coming from what John knew was their old living room, and John knew that their mother and grandmother were doing the best they could to fight the demon that had been responsible for the murder of Jefferson Tracy. Their mother had been terrified for months that he would come back, and their grandparents had been in the house almost constantly since their mom had said that she was going to have another baby.

The twins were clinging to each other tightly; their eyes frightened, and Scott was trying to keep two-year-old Alan silent, the small boy's whimpers and cries muffled against the ten-year-old's sweater. That left John to try and cling to Gordon, who at only four wasn't at all happy when he had to stay still for any amount of time. He still thrashing and sobbing for their mother; old enough to go to the care/training centre with the twins, but also too young to be knowledgeable of why they had to stay hidden, and to act accordingly.

John was only slight though; not yet having the taller and longer form that it was obvious he was going to grow into later, so it was no surprise, that even despite his desperation to keep Gordon in his arms, he got loose.

Letting out a gasp, and throwing Scott a terrified look, John tried to dart forward to grab his little brother, as the small boy ducked around the door. He was too late though.

Even as Gordon's bright hair was illuminated by the light outside the doorway, there was a roaring sound, and John's world exploded in a vivid flash, before turning pitch black.

Instantaneously, and rather strangely too, John found himself sitting. He was back in the whirling swirling vortex of coloured lights, which pulsed and faded in and out. He shut his eyes against the glare of them, because his head was aching so viciously, he was scared it would explode.

John bit his lip as he squinted his eyes open again; the lights were gone now, and so was the tunnel. In fact, everywhere was sterile white.

He lifted his head, moaning as he moved it, biting back nausea and trying to ignore the horrible sensation of tiny little miners digging away in there. He was in what he and his brothers called the sickroom, and there were all manner of things happening to the basic medical machinery within.

He looked up at the wall, and the old-fashioned cuckoo clock fastened to it was going crazy. The bird was springing in and out like a jack in the box, and the hands were whirling round in opposite directions.

The scales Grandma used to mix her herbal remedies were moving up and down on the table along the wall, clanking as they hit the wood and causing some of Grandmas medicines to bounce off the shelves that were located next to it. Thankfully they weren't glass, or they would've shattered as they hit the floorboards.

The noise that they were all making whirred in his aching head, and John closed his eyes again, suddenly noticing the light, burning sensation on both his shoulders and his abdomen, characteristic of _iratzes_; healing marks applied to the general area of an injury in order to heal the wound.

John was rather puzzled, as he tried to put the pieces together in his aching brain, as to a) why he was lying on the bed in the first place, and b) why exactly he couldn't remember any of the events that had landed him there.

He winced as he still heard the medical paraphernalia flying about the room, and despite his throbbing head, John tried to gather the leaking threads of his power in order to draw it back into the nubs that he always visualised it coming from, deep within his mind.

He wasn't quite quick enough though.

"Jonathan Alexander Tracy! You stop that right now, or I'll take your brother's whip to you! I know you don't like medicine but that's no excuse for the shocking waste of my ingredients!"

John flinched. He might've been a demon hunter and confronted death with his brothers every day, but he had never, ever been able to face down his grandmother.

John, unlike his brothers, had been more or less named after the first of their kind, Jonathan Shadowhunter, who had pleaded the Angel Raziel to help save the world from the scourge of the other dimensions. Over a thousand years ago the angel had given Jonathan his blood to drink from the Mortal Cup, creating the Nephilim race –half-human, half-angel– to fight against the demons.

His parents had come to a compromise of sorts on his name; Jeff had wanted to name all of the boys completely after the astronauts, but when it came to John Glenn, Lucy had apparently said that she preferred the traditional name of Jonathan, and so his parents had agreed on having Jonathan being shortened to John, a name the young owner much preferred.

He didn't particularly like being different, and it wasn't usually until he was in trouble that he remembered why he hated having a name that had such responsibility behind it.

John squinted his eyes open again, and with a sharp yank on his power, managed to allow his grandmother's tools and ointments to go back to where they were supposed to be. His head was slowly clearing, but the side of his face and the right side of his torso ached fiercely, leading him to wonder again, how he'd ended up there.

After a quiet apology to his grandmother, that was exactly what he asked.

"You're in here, Johnny, because your damn fool little brother did it again! Your grandpa has to heal him now, and then go find Scott and put him out of his misery!"

It was clear that his grandmother was fairly angry. Though she hadn't specified which younger brother it was, John had to admit that he knew who the likely culprit was.

John blinked wearily as the memory started to flood back. He visibly flinched as he remembered hitting the wall and just who it was that had caused it. Despite the _iratze_ Marks, he knew he was going to ache for days. He was going to murder Kent!

He struggled to prop himself up on one elbow and push his knees toward the outside of the bed. He was getting out of here and he was going to find Scott, and comfort his poor brother, who was more than likely beating himself up right now about what his temper had done.

John swung his legs out and looked around for his boots. Of course, they'd been removed when he was put into bed. His grandma was a stickler for no boots on furniture.

Now where the hell had she put them?

His grandmother, having left the room quicker than John had realised, chose that very moment to come back in, holding a flask of something that he was sure he was going to be made to drink. He was also sure he wouldn't like the taste of it either. Not one little bit!

"If you're looking for your footwear, boy, you won't get them! You're staying on that bed until those injuries fully heal. And your boots are upstairs in your room; just to be sure that you do as you're told."

As she uttered the words, she thrust the flask into John's unwilling hands. "Now, boy, just you drink that while it's still fresh and hot, or you'll not see the benefit of it."

Eyeing it warily, John lifted the flask to his lips, stopping halfway as the smell from the brew wafted into his nostrils, making him gag. He hurriedly pushed it away, "Grandma! What's in this? It smells like a demon's armpit and probably tastes like one too!"

"Just you drink that up now, young man or so help me, I'll hold your nose and force you with it! It's only an infusion of Valerian, Black Cohosh and Cayenne. It won't kill you, as you damn well know, it'll only help."

John grimaced as he lifted it again to his mouth and hurriedly gulped it down, holding his breath as he did so. He knew only too well that his grandmother would do what she said to him if he didn't. She was only petite; barely five feet in height, but by the Angel, she was a spitfire of a woman; her temper as fiery as the red hair now streaked with grey and white, lying plaited and coiled at the nape of her slender neck. Even his grandfather was known to beat a hasty retreat if she was in a certain mood.

"Now, John," she said softly. "… You just lie back on that bed, and you use your powers to your advantage and see if they will locate our poor Scott for us."

Meekly, even as he tried to get saliva flowing to rid himself of the tonic's awful taste, John did as he was told. He picked up the small, rectangular, electronic pad that Grandma laid on his lap, preparing to try to convince his aching head to concentrate and rein in his power to focus on the tablet which provided the means for his powers to extend and multiply in strength.

Releasing again those thin tendrils of his gift, remembering the emotions he felt whenever he and Scott fought as one -the promise made at their Parabatai bonding ritual to be there for one another, no matter what they faced- the feeling coalesced from a faint trace, to a warm little knot inside his chest.

John pushed outward with his mind, searching for the familiar sensation that was always present whenever he 'sensed' Scott. John probed around in the 'Ether' as he called it, startling himself when that warm pulse that indicated Scott on his 'map' became a red hot point. He realised that it was somewhat near to the sickroom; coming closer and closer, and what was more he was not alone. John's eyes snapped open in surprise at the sound of the door inching open.

To say that Scott walked into the room was a relative description though. He was more or less leaning on their grandfather, clearly reluctant to see for himself the damage that had been done to his little brother. His lanky frame was shaking; clad messily in a pair of sweatpants and a loose white t-shirt.

John could see the immense guilt that was clear in Scott's dark blue eyes, and he felt anger flare within, not at Scott, but at his second-youngest brother for making that expression appear on the older boy's face.

"Hello, Big Brother, come to assess the damage, huh? No worries, as you can see… I'll live." John knew this form of reaction to be the easiest way to go, at least until Scott was ready to speak up.

Scott, still tucked into Grant's half-embrace, glared at John. "'No worries'?" He growled incredulously. "I threw you across a room, John! How is there 'no worries' about that? I can smell the pain on you, you dolt! You're bruised up and you reek of liniment. You are most certainly not okay!"

John sighed in slight annoyance, looking questioningly at his grandfather for help. Ruth had vanished not long after giving him his electronic tablet.

Grant only raised an eyebrow at him, and giving Scott a rough push, deposited John's older brother onto the mattress next to John's feet. John had pushed himself onto the pillows flumped up behind him, still feeling exhausted (not that he'd ever admit it) despite what he was projecting to Scott. Both boys looked up at their grandfather, who just gave them a pointed look, before striding out of the small infirmary room, closing the door behind him.

Scott lifted his eyes and looked up the bed to meet John's. Cobalt irises met ice blue, causing Scott to lower his defences. He whispered, "I thought I'd killed you, Johnny, I could have killed you. If I'd hit you any harder I _would've_! I hate myself and I loathe my gift right now. And besides, don't expect me to believe you're fine when I have the same connections to you as you have to me. Parabatai, remember?"

John grumbled beneath his breath about the idiocy of older brothers. "Scott." He said patiently. "It's not your fault. It's Kent's, if anyone's, for being such a pigheaded, stubborn idiot, and anyway, I was stupid enough to go pelting towards an almost fully-formed wolf. I could've used my telekinesis to hold you still, but no; I had to go and join the realm of family idiots too. You are _not_ to blame, okay?"

Scott still looked unconvinced, and John couldn't help himself; he whacked Scott hard in the back of the head. "You can't help it. Quit moping and help me up here.' He held his hand out.

'Oh, and by the way; that smack means we're equal again. Got that, now, brother dear or do I have to spell it out in words Alan would understand?" The sarcasm in his voice, accompanying the mocking term of endearment, and the teasing slight against their notoriously thick-headed youngest brother was enough for a smirk to form tentatively on Scott's face. In addition, John could see that his brother was barely able to hold a smack back himself. He grinned.

Despite his now apparent belief that John was going to be alright, it was clear that Scott knew that John was sore, and that wasn't something that the younger boy was going to dispute.

Scott laughed out loud though, a deep throaty gurgle that warmed John's heart to hear. "Oh, you'll pay for that, Little Brother. When you least expect it, you'll pay for that!

"One more thing, Scott. Do me a big favour. Please?"

"What?" Scott asked, looking at John somewhat suspiciously.

John shoved his bare feet onto Scott's lap, deliberating wiggling his toes. His feet didn't smell bad to him, but to Scott's heightened sense of smell they most likely would, after training and running and fighting for the hours they had, even before the most recent altercation.

"Fetch my boots and get me out of here please?"

Scott pushed the offending limbs off his lap "I'll do better than that." he said. "I'll take you to them." He walked to the door and peered around, before walking back to the bed.

Scott snorted suddenly to himself, finer sensibilities coming into consideration. Deliberately disobey their grandmother, take his little brother out of the infirmary when he probably shouldn't be getting up quite yet -possibly bringing the wrath of both grandparents down on both their heads?

It was probably not the best of moves, but though as of yet neither of them were in trouble (they left that to Kent and Alan usually), it still might not be worth the scolding. Or even worse; he wouldn't put it past Grandma to take her big wooden herb-stirring spoon to their respective hides. He might be an adult, but to Grandma they were all still little boys after all. He shuddered.

What was life without risk though? Scott helped John easily to his feet, and then suddenly, just as easily pushed him back onto the bed. Scott grinned evilly.

"Maybe on the day I want to be murdered by Grandma." He told John. "You're staying there until she says you can go and not before. I'm not that dense. And besides…" John looked at Scott indignantly as Scott smirked. "This is payback, little brother. Payback."


	5. Chapter Five

_**Jae and Elle: **_**Hi all! We're sorry we didn't get to last chapter's reviews, things got a bit busy and both of us forgot about them… Whoops!**

**Just a small note; this was originally intended to be a fusion fic but we have decided to branch out on a different route, therefore as of chapter six, this fic will become a crossover and will hence be moved to that section of the site.**

**To refer to an anonymous review from a couple of chapters ago, that we could not reply to, there is a reason for why we did what we did to Gordon Tracy, and if you persevere with our story, that reason shall soon become obvious. ****Kent Tracy is not a replacement for Gordon; he is a character to our story in his own right. This is an A/U where there were 6 Tracy boys born to Jeff and Lucille.**

**And to the guest reviewers who clog our page with your hatred of things that are different, and also, frankly useless statements; we hope to leave you behind when we move!**

**We thank you for all the lovely reviews, and that you enjoy the chapter. Thanks for reading.**

Alan sat back in his chair, arms folded and staring at the ground with a mutinous expression on his otherwise cherubic-looking face.

He didn't know why _he _had to be dragged in here and scolded. _He'd_ done nothing wrong. His older brothers were the ones acting like idiots.

Not him.

After all, he was the odd one out, the fifth wheel; whatever you wanted to call it. He was the baby brother: forever _Kiddo_ or _Sprout_ or_ Allie_. Silly baby names. The baby with the bad blood, that's who he was.

His idiot brothers had caused the trouble so why was he here? He was sitting in Grandpa's study with them, waiting for Grant to arrive, and Alan smirked to himself as he looked them over. They looked like a line of scaredy cats.

Ha, perhaps if he goaded Scott he'd oblige and change into a cat! The thought amused him endlessly.

Alan lifted his eyes and gazed around the room and its occupants again. His brothers were seated as they always were at a family conference/lecture. Scott and John were next to each other talking quietly; Virgil sitting quietly in the next seat looking anywhere but at Kent.

Kent sat in between him and Virgil, studiously staring at his boots; obviously wishing he wasn't there.

Well he was the main culprit, Alan thought. 'Suffer in your boots' was what Grandma would say.

Alan's lips twitched at the thought of how much trouble Kent would be in shortly, when Grandpa got there. He then groaned inwardly as Virgil's head whipped around and he glared at him. Trust him to pick up on it, stupid empathy. Alan scowled back at Virgil.

His older brother only raised his eyebrows at him sternly, and Alan felt that flash of blazing irritation that flared into life, sometimes even snarling into hatred if he wasn't able to control it. That was what had happened to him the day before yesterday.

Managing to recall the meditation that Grandpa Grant had helped him to try and perfect, Alan only ended up sticking his tongue out mulishly at Virgil. The older twin's lip twitched in amusement, and Alan smirked back. Not many people knew it, but Virgil sometimes had a mischievous, sprite-like streak that could rival his twin's. He just was a fair bit sneakier about showing it than Kent.

The door swung open and Alan watched as all his brothers shot out their seats and stared at the desk as Grandpa strode across and around it, pulling his chair out and motioning them to sit down.

Alan had scrambled to his feet seconds after them; after all it didn't pay to annoy Grandpa any further when he was already pretty angry.

Alan sat down with a thump; prepared to be bored, as this was bound to start with Scott and finish with him; another reason why it sucked to be the youngest. Grandpa sat there looking from one to the other of them with a cool gaze.

Alan was prepared to stare out the window until his grandfather got to him, but he was then startled when Grant's gaze fixed on his. "Today we will start with Alan!"

Alan met his grandfather's gaze with surprise. Far from being irritated or angry with him, Grant's voice was suffused with pride; the same emotion shining in his face. "I know that you hadn't actually thought you needed to be here today, Alan, and I apologise if I led you to think that, but I just wanted to tell you, in front of your brothers how well I thought you handled yesterday. I wanted to tell you when you woke up, but then your brothers…" Grant's eyes flickered towards his oldest and middle grandsons. "…got in the way, so I want to just say well done for keeping your temper." Alan saw his grandfather smile. "Looks like all our hard work is paying off.'

'Your Grandma will be here shortly Alan; she's just fetching a fresh brew of your medicine from her kitchen. It's a new variant that may well help even more than the last batch." Grant smiled wryly, "I can't promise it will taste any better though."

Alan wrinkled his nose. As much as his grandmother's tinctures and remedies worked to some extent in calming him down from his rages, they always tasted like old socks and dusty books. Alan would know.

He knew what dirty socks tasted like; after that one time of many he had cheeked the twins, and Kent had shoved one of his dance socks in his mouth to shut him up. Alan shuddered; now that was disgusting and Grandma's drinks were not much better.

At that moment the door opened for a second time, and Grandma bustled in carrying a tray. Alan grimaced; there was his medicine in a tall ceramic beaker.

He looked again; there was more than just his medicine on there. There was another two mugs... Now who were they for?

Grandma put the tray down on the desk and handed Alan his beaker. "There you go, Allie," she said softly. She picked up the next mug. Alan saw the other four boys eyeing it apprehensively.

She pushed it firmly into John's hands. "Drink it and no arguing Jonathan." She said sternly.

Ruth picked up the last mug. "It's a new recipe that our herbalist friend has prescribed for you, Scott, to try and help you to keep your temper. I had to wait days for some of the ingredients and it's finally ready. Just in time it seems. Here you go."

Alan watched, amazed, as Scott just meekly accepted the cup and swallowed the contents.

Alan was shocked at this. He had never seen Scott so quiet and sorrowful. What had happened in the training room after he had left? This lecture might just be interesting after all. As he shuffled in his seat, a sudden movement to Scott's left made Alan turn slightly to see what was going on, just as Grandma neatly clipped John around the head.

"That's quite enough of your cheek, boy! You're not too old or too big for a good hiding you know! Next time you pull a face like that, the wind could change and your face will be stuck like that! But then, that may be quite an improvement!"

Grant thumped his fist down on the desk. "Enough! John, apologise to your grandmother!" He paused, while John uttered a mumbled apology. "Thank-you. Now onto other more important matters…"

Alan sat back on his chair, knowing if he kept quiet they might forget he was there and then he'd get to hear the juicy stuff for once.

"Onto...Virgil." Grandpa said, his gaze settling on the oldest twin, who looked back fearlessly.

"Now, Virgil, I'm afraid I have to both reprimand and praise you for your involvement in Tuesday's debacle. You were very quick and capable in interpreting your vision and fetching help, and I want to offer you a well-done for that..."

Alan cocked his head, stifling a curse as his golden curls flopped in his face. So just what had Virgil done?

"...and you're learning, young man, and doing extremely well in your psychic studies...but... if I ever, and I mean _ever_ hear that you are practicing offensive manoeuvres on your brother again, there will be serious repercussions. Do you understand, Virgil? Save it for the training room on the dummies, or in battle. Do not let your temper get in the way of your rational choices. One day you may take it too far and you may be unable to take back what you have wrought in anger. You must learn from your mistakes, young man."

"Yes, Grandpa." Virgil looked abashed. He turned to his twin. "Sorry, Kent!"

Alan glanced at Kent as he lifted his eyes from his boots and looked Virgil in the face, his lips quirking at the corners in a half smile, and he gave his twin a slight nod of the head. Alan could tell just by looking at them that they were having one of their telepathic conversations. He grimaced slightly.

Why did his brothers get all the cool powers? All he got was quick speed and bad blood. It wasn't fair; who knew what his powers could have been if only that demon hadn't interfered! Drat that demon!

Alan roused himself from his thoughts as Grandpa spoke again.

"Now, John. I know you're still sore and I'm sorry about that. I sincerely hope the two causes of your pain will apologise to you in due course...but what you attempted to do was foolhardy, and your injuries could have been much worse. I had hoped at seventeen years old you would know better than to rush at a shape-shifter in transition! Chains are for a shifter before he changes, not whilst he's doing it, and then, even so you should have approached quietly and stealthily. I understand that you rushed because of Kent's dilemma, but by doing so you ignored all of your basic education! You of all people know what Scott is like and how he reacts."

Alan watched in fascination as John flushed scarlet on his usually pale cheeks, and Scott crouched lower in the chair. So Biggest Brother had messed up, somehow! Alan found his curiosity building by the minute.

"I do not want to ever see a repetition of this, Jonathan. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Grandfather." John mumbled eyes downcast.

"Right then," Grandpa stated. "We now move on to Scott."

Alan sat motionless as Scott raised tear-filled eyes, wracked with emotion, to meet their grandfather's gaze.

"Scott." Grandpa said gently. "We need to work harder, I think, on controlling your emotions. You are doing brilliantly in your endeavours to do so, and only have the occasional lapse... but we must strive to make it as perfect as we can. You must learn to rise above all taunts and goading. After all, if your brothers can cause you to react this way, then so too can your enemies. We need to turn your gift to our advantage, not to risk our enemies seeing this as a weakness to use against you. I am not going to say much to you about Tuesday's events. I know you are truly sorry for that, but just think on the fact that if you had not let your anger rule you, then it would not have occurred, and you would not be in this state now."

"Yes, Grandpa." Scott said softly. "Sorry, John… Sorry, Kent…" His voice trailed off as his thoughts overtook him.

"That's enough for now, Scott." Grandpa interjected. "We now move on to Kent's part..." He turned to look upon the younger twin. "Now you pay attention to me, Kent Thomas..." His voice quickly changed from gentle to sharp.

Alan gripped the side of his seat in glee. Now he would finally get to see and hear just what Kent had done that had such repercussions.

Alan looked down at his hands, suddenly rather distracted. There was something not right with them; they were burning and tingling. As he flexed his fingers to try to ease the sensation, they let off a soft crackling noise - he touched them together and blue-ish white light sparked at the tips.

Quickly he put them in his lap. He didn't want to draw attention just now, not while Grandpa was still boiling over at Kent. He didn't want that anger directed at him, and not only that, he was scared to show the others in case they scoffed at him and broke the dream.

If they did that, however jokingly, Alan knew his fragile hold on his demonic side would be broken and he would react whether he wanted to or not. What no one realised was that every time the demon side took hold, Alan was present in the back of his mind, watching and sensing everything his other side said or did, knowing that he would be the one to have to live with the consequences, not the 'other' Alan as he called his other personality. He preferred to draw a distinct line between them, to Alan's mind, two people sharing one body was the best way he could explain it.

There was no chance of that though, not when three out of his four older brothers were getting just as bored as Alan over the lecture, especially when they weren't the ones on the receiving end of it.

Kent though, sitting on the chair next to him, was the one to notice his sparking palms in his peripheral vision. Being the loudmouthed snitch he was, _and also rude to boot_, Alan thought, Kent uttered a loud 'whoa', cutting their grandfather off in mid-sentence.

Alan looked amazed at the sparky light; what was causing it? Did he... could he really, _finally_ have a power of his own? Could he have proved everyone (who had thought he would amount to nothing thanks to that Marax Demon), wrong? A little smile tugged at his lips.

He hoped so. Oh, to be able to hold his own with his brothers and not be just an ordinary Shadowhunter kid, when every other member of his family had extra gifts to play with. He was almost too scared to hope that these lights and sparks were real.

Grant had moved from around the desk to squat in front of his youngest grandson. Pulling Alan's hands from where they were clenched together in his lap -the young boy's wide eyes entranced by the sparks flickering from them- he held them out towards himself.

The bursts of white-blue light were getting stronger as his older brothers crowded around Alan, congratulating him and asking their grandfather excited questions. Grinning with glee, Alan's eyes suddenly widened in alarm as he felt what he could only describe as a surge of white heat roar from the palms of his outstretched hands.

The white lightning bolt zigzagged across the room, causing his brothers to jump back in alarm. As it struck the faded green-and-white gingham curtains his grandma had made, the flimsy material shot up in white-hot licks of flame.

Being the one standing closest to the flames, John leapt away with a yelp. Kent and Virgil had, amusingly, reacted to the threat by standing back-to-back in a fighting stance, which they held for barely a second, before looking around sheepishly and trying to find something to put them out.

Scott and Grant were a little more practical. Grant had moved Alan forcibly away from the accident scene, while Scott gave Kent a sharp poke in the back of the head, and then pushed Virgil towards the fire, which earned him a glare of reproach from the elder twin.

Both fifteen-year-olds seemed to realise what Scott's intentions were though, because Virgil put his hands out towards the flames, and Kent approached Alan himself.

Kent wrapped his arms around Alan from behind, careful not to touch the burning hands, yet exert his power on his youngest sibling, knowing that if any more power exploded, Alan could very well burn the house down.

Alan couldn't believe it. How dare they try to do this…? How many accidents with new powers had the big brothers had in their lives? He wasn't allowed even one! Angrily, he threw open his arms, dislodging a surprised Kent's grip with a hard shove to the midriff.

It sent the older boy staggering back into the hard edge of the desk, and Kent let out a gasp as his bruises roared into life. It seemed that Alan's newfound gift had made the youngest Tracy temporarily stronger and quicker, because Kent hadn't even been able to get his arms around Alan before the younger boy had moved.

Alan ran toward the door, and then spun around on the spot; his eyes remaining a clear blue, lips pursed. "You... you... I hate you!" He screamed. "One rule for you lot, and another for me. I'm outta here!"

As Alan threw open the door, John darted through it from the other side; carrying what looked suspiciously like Grandma's cauldron-shaped pot. He threw the contents at the curtains, which sizzled and hissed as the flames extinguished.

Grant sprang forward and pulled Alan back over to the desk, as Scott looked incredulously at his immediate younger brother. "John, you didn't!"

"Didn't what?" John asked nonchalantly.

Scott sniffed the air. "Was that water or something else?"

"Oh, so it's not 'thank you John, for putting the fire out', then? Just more nagging! Honestly why did I bother? Next time I'll let them burn!"

"Was that your medicine you chucked on it?"

"Maybe," John shrugged.

Scott sniffed the air again, and burst out laughing. "You imbecile, John!"

John looked at him, puzzled. "What's so funny?"

Alan watched through narrowed eyes as Scott attempted to talk through his bellows of laughter. "One, Grandma is going to kill you… two, be prepared for extra nasty medicine coming up, because, three; that isn't your medicine you threw on the fire…"

"What?" John looked worried.

"It's mine!" Scott sniggered. "The one with rare ingredients! You are _so_ dead."

Suddenly the door once again swung open, and a very angry Grandma Tracy erupted through, brandishing her big wooden spoon.

Alan smirked and took advantage of a surprised Grandpa loosening his grip, and bolted out of the room. Taking refuge in the closet across the corridor, he could still hear the chaos, but was now hidden from view.

Alan wriggled into his hidey hole, chuckling to himself as he heard the loud cracks (knowing from painful experience that they were blows from the spoon), and John's shouts as he received them. They were accompanied by scattered footsteps as Scott and the twins ran from the scene.

Alan licked his dry lips. Obviously they had already conveniently forgotten him, so intent were they on disappearing. He heard his grandparents' raised voices lecturing John, and more footsteps as Grandma then dragged his older brother off, presumably for another, more intense lecture.

Alan stretched, then curled up tighter as a loud, resonating sound echoed through the house; the official doorbell. Someone was in need of Nephilim help.


	6. Chapter Six

**A/N: Hi everyone! Naughty Jae was a little bit forgetful and didn't do the review responses because she was busy with uni. Elle was busy with family commitments, so it slipped her mind as well. Please know that we appreciate all of them, and we'll try and reply more promptly in future.**

**Disclaimer: This is a crossover between the Thunderbirds and the Shadowhunter Chronicles. The references that aren't for the latter are for the former, and we own neither them or the Tracy family, and we are not earning any money for this endeavour.**

**We hope you enjoy.**

Scott padded towards the front hallway of their large manor house; his bare feet slapping on the hardwood floor. The dark bruise beneath his jaw from the tussle with Kent two days ago still smarted, although it wasn't as painful as the blows to his pride. His ears were still burning from the talk in his grandfather's office, and Scott was horrified that he could possibly have killed two of his little brothers. He was trying to push it to the back of his mind though, for although he couldn't fully say that he wasn't at fault for the incident (even if he wanted to), he knew that there were things he couldn't control with his own behaviour. All he could do was his best to move past it, even if the thought of having hurt two of his precious siblings was hard to bear.

He hid a grin at John's stupid move with the pot of his 'medication'; his first brother had a terrible habit of trying to be sneaky and mischievous, but at the same time he was terrible at thinking about the possible repercussions of his behaviour. The twins and Alan, like himself, had scattered in the wake of their grandmother's wrath, and it was as Scott had moved towards his rooms on the north side of the house, that the doorbell had chimed.

With his enhanced hearing he'd heard the doors open following the sound of the bell, and he could hear his grandfather having a murmured conversation with the visitor, even from two floors away. Curiosity peaked, Scott moved in a swift jog down to the first floor, and his hearing became sharper as he allowed the lupine ears of his main shifting form come in slightly, to pick up the muted sound even more.

His grandfather was talking to a lean, bird-like man with dark red hair and dark amber eyes. Scott could smell the scent of a warlock on him –a Downworlder with one human parent and one demon parent. Scott wondered what his mark would be; usually it was an animal-crossed feature, like stag horns or bat wings, something like that. _Might be on his feet, _Scott mused. He could smell a distinct avian scent.

As Scott got even closer, he saw the warlock's arms moving as he talked, fluttery motions that enhanced Scott's opinion that he was part bird somehow. Then he glimpsed the fingers.

Where the digits should be were long, pointed and cruel talons that looked capable of slashing a throat like a hot knife through butter.

Scott quickened his speed further, afraid that the warlock would attack Grant where he stood. His eyes narrowed and his mouth twitched. Just let the birdie, Scott decided derisively, try anything and he would pounce. A wolf could best a bird anyway.

His grandfather didn't even turn around, he just lifted his arm into a stop motion, essentially telling Scott not to interfere and that he was all right. Scott leaned against the wall just out of sight of their visitor. He was not leaving Grandpa alone with that warlock! All Scott's primal instincts were screaming at him not to trust this person at all.

The warlock –Scott had heard his grandpa call him Crane– was still deep in discussion with Grant; Scott heard mention of Demons and Mundane-baiting and unwittingly a growl started in his throat.

Grandpa looked up sharply, staring Scott in the face as the young man appeared around the corner from where he'd been standing. "Scott, control yourself, _now_."

Unaware that the growl had emerged, Scott was startled when Grant spoke calmly, though with an edge, as he projected his voice, despite the non-necessity of the action. He hadn't realised that he'd gotten so tense. Something about this guy rubbed Scott very badly the wrong way, and he didn't know why.

"Stand down Scott, its fine. Mr. Crane knows what I am." The threat was clear in his voice. Grant turned back to the warlock and gazed at him thoughtfully, "Or should I say just _who_ I am."

Crane laughed. Scott winced inwardly, even the cackle sounded like the shrill, out-of-tune cry of a crow.

"Yes Grant Tracy, I do know exactly who you are. The illegitimate brat of a union between a Nephilim warrior and a Seelie Faerie Princess..." He was abruptly cut off as Grant hissed.

"Enough, Crane. You brought valid information to our door and we will act. Good day." Grant shut the door in a surprised Crane's face, and then he turned decisively to face Scott.

"Okay, Scott." His grandfather's eyes were wary. "Fetch your brothers, and meet me in the weapons room, we will consult there. We're going on a hunt."

Scott nodded curtly, and loped off to round up his siblings.

Scott knew where John would be, still being scolded by Grandma, so he ran swiftly towards and up the stairs to the attic, bellowing his _parabatai_'s name at the landing.

Grandma poked her head around the door, her face set in lines of disapproval. "Jonathan is not available right now, Scott James, and you know it. Please refrain from shouting down the house, boy!"

Scott flushed red with chagrin, but shook his head in impatience. "Grandma, Grandpa needs him: we're going on a demon hunt."

The diminutive woman sighed. "I suppose I'll have to let him go now, won't I?" Her head disappeared.

A minute later John came out, rubbing his backside; his pale face flushed with humiliation.

Scott's lips twitched in mingled sympathy and slight amusement. "Jeez, you look like a tomato Johnny." He chuckled. "That'll teach you to not do that stunt again, huh?"

John glared at him. "The spoon still stings Scott, and you know it! And who knew such a tiny woman can yell so much?" That was said in a whisper, knowing Scott could hear him.

It appeared that he wasn't the only one.

"I heard that Jonathan Alexander! Enough with the cheek, boy and get downstairs to your Granddaddy! I'll expect you to help me clean that storeroom when you get back, tiredness or not!"

Scott grimaced in sympathy for John. Their grandmother was relentless when it came to sorting and clearing. He didn't envy him that task at all. "Come on, Johnny. We still got to find the twins." Scott expostulated, breaking into a sprint.

"Well," John drawled. "That shouldn't be too hard. The studio of course; where else do they go when they want to get away?"

Scott skittered to a halt and pricked up his ears as he turned his head toward the east wing. Sure enough, he could hear the sounds of Tchaikovsky's _Swan Lake_ being played on a piano.

"Right in one, John." He took off swiftly, aware that precious time was being wasted.

He was aware of footsteps behind him, meaning John was on his heels. He reached the room they called the studio; which basically held all their musical instruments, Virgil's easel and canvas and a warm-up area and barre for Kent.

True to Scott's ears and John's prediction both, Virgil was at the piano; his eyes closed in concentration as he moved his fingers easily over the keys. Kent was doing stretches and gentle lunges as he warmed up in the middle of the open floor at the side of the room.

Both twins wore dark jeans and loose shirts, and it was only because of the fact that Kent's was unbuttoned, –showing his chest scar– and that they were both at their respective main pursuits that Scott could immediately tell them apart. Both brown-haired boys were so buried in what they were doing, that neither had noticed their older brothers' approach the door to the studio. Clearly they'd not heard the doorbell either, otherwise they'd have been ready and raring to go by now.

Scott cast a longing glance at his own guitar lying against the wall, then spoke up in a rather brusque tone. "Virgil, Kent. Grandpa wants us. Meeting. Weapons room, now. Demon Hunt." He'd found in the past that this tone was the best way to get through the twins' absorbed state.

The twins exchanged startled glances then looked at Scott.

"Okay." they chorused in unison.

Virgil rose from the piano and closed the lid. Kent picked himself up off the floor with a graceful jump and strode towards Scott and John buttoning his shirt as he walked.

Seeing the bruises on his younger brother's sent a jolt through Scott, an unpleasant reminder of the events from the other day. They were a mottled blue and yellow-green now as they healed, but Scott choked down the unwanted horror. What was done was done, and he'd just have to work harder in the future. That was all it was to it.

Kent, spokesperson for the twins as usual, asked the natural questions. "What kind of demon? Marax, Shax, Eidolon, Greater? What's the go; do we need any antidotes, and do we need any specific protection runes?" He ruffled his hair, pushing it off his face where Scott knew it had flopped when Kent had been doing his floor stretches. "Are Grandpa and Grandma coming with us?"

Scott shook his head, "I don't know, Kent, Grandpa was talking to some warlock at the front door." Scott's nose wrinkled with the memory of that awful avian stench. "Then he sent me to fetch you all. All I do know is it involves Mundane baiting."

He chuckled as his brothers all muttered curse words at the thought of that occurring, Virgil and Kent completely unanimously and with the same amount of vehemence. Having said something much more explicit, John glanced around as he did so, almost as if he were afraid Grandma would hear. This realisation made Scott's lips twitch in amusement.

"Okay, so just the usual supplies then…" Virgil mused, ever the strategist, tapping the pen he always had tucked behind his ear on his chin, before scrawling a haphazard list on the back of his right hand, over the Clairvoyant Vision rune that enhanced their Sight.

Kent rolled his eyes as Virgil got lost in the task, and grabbed his twin by the sleeve as Scott gestured for them to move down to the next level of the house, towards the weapons room.

Without another word, all four brothers took off at a sprint. Virgil suddenly stopped short.

"What about Alan?" He exclaimed.

Scott turned around with an impatient glance. "The kid's stayed on his own before, he can do so again."

"But, Scott that was when he knew where we were going, this time unless he comes out of hiding he won't, and he'll go in an even bigger rage from being left out this way." The young Empath replied.

Scott scowled. "If the kid chooses to stay hidden, and act like a sulky brat, then that's how I'll treat him."

Look Scott, I know Allie annoys you but..."

"Annoys me? Okay, let's get one thing straight. I love and protect him with my life, but when that… that demon side of him shows up, he smells so awful I can't freaking stand the sight of him. So until he stops sulking and becomes our Allie again, then I just don't care, okay?" With that, Scott opened the door to the weapons room, calling out, "Here we are, Grandfather…"

Inside, Grant was shrugging on the last piece of his battle gear; a very old, black full-length leather coat with many pockets, both visible and concealed.

"Right," he said, turning to face them. "John and Kent, I want you to swear on the Angel that you both are up to this task. We can't afford to chance you if you are not, so look me in the eyes and say the truth. John, you first."

Scott watched hesitantly as John lifted ice blue eyes to meet Grandpa's narrowed, scrutinising gaze. "I swear on the Angel Raziel that I am fit for this task."

Grandpa nodded decisively in response.

Scott breathed a sigh of relief. John had passed the 'Lie Detector' test. He bit his lip as his grandfather turned to the younger twin, Kent's mostly-green eyes lighting up with pre-adrenaline at the prospect of a chance to prove himself.

"I swear, Grandfather, on the Angel that I am healthy enough to participate today, in this battle." He saluted Grant, half-respectful, half-mocking. "I'm fit and ready, sir!"

Even as Grant nodded his permission, and the other boys scattered to retrieve their gear and various weapons from the closets and racks around him, Scott rolled his eyes. His second-youngest brother always had a flair for the theatrical side of things.

Scott swept over to the seraph blades, and hurriedly grabbed his favourite, one which activated upon the name _Harahel_, and would glow a bright blue at its most deadly. He scooped up his poisoned darts and dropped them into the spelled-leather pouch at the waist of his black jeans. He pulled on his strong black boots and sheathed a dagger in each. Then he slipped on his silver and electrum threaded mesh gloves; these were designed to disintegrate if he should shift to animal form, but would leave an effective coating on his claws.

Out of the corners of his eyes, he saw Grandpa sheath the mighty sword _Cortana_ at his waist, and check that who-knew-what-else was secreted in his pockets.

John snatched up his bow and the arrows that were tipped in silver, electrum, lead and other deadly substances. He too put daggers in his boots, a silver rope chain coiled around his waist, seraph blade in hand. Scott recognised it as _Tahariel_, who glowed purple when in use.

Virgil and Kent were loading up across the room. Virgil had his legendary electrum whip coiled around his waist like an innocent gold-coloured belt, and there was the set of _kindjal_ daggers that the boys split between them, taking one each. They moved to the seraph blades; Virgil taking _Jahoel_, a yellow-glowing blade and Kent choosing _Jophiel_, a lime-edged one. Kent grabbed the shoulder bag of throwing stars that were his long-distance weapon, slinging it across his torso, over his gear-vest.

Then, they all fastened silver neck chains round their throats loaded with all the religious symbols, just in case they ran into vampires, the cold metal grimly comforting against Scott's skin.

"Right boys," Grant stated, "…grab your steles and carve as many runes that you think will help."

Scott picked up his stele and carved _Stamina_, _Soundless_ and _Strength _runes onto his arms, eyeing his brothers carefully as they did the same.

"Ready to go, Grandfather." Scott said, blinking slowly, his heart beginning to beat with pre-adrenaline. "But..." He looked around suddenly. "Isn't Grandma coming this time?"

Grant turned away, looking irritated. "No, Scott, she is not. We cannot locate Alan, so your grandmother has chosen to stay home and find him. She says she doesn't want to come home to a smouldering ruin if his power gets out of hand."

Scott just nodded abruptly and strode out of the room. "Let's go, then!"

Faster than the rest of them, he got around the corner and down the hallway in a flash. But before he managed to get halfway around the second turn that led towards the basement door, Scott smacked into a very tall, slender, but strongly-muscled figure.

Staggering back, Scott shook his head to get rid of the momentary giddiness, before looking up to meet slightly curved, dark brown eyes; threaded with amber, above deep, dark, scar-like runes, the marks sharp against tawny-pale skin.

"Uncle Jem! When did you get here?"

James Carstairs, the Tracys' adopted uncle, and Scott's godfather, smiled warmly at the eighteen-year-old.

"Not long ago Scott. Where are you rushing off to?"

Scott smiled at his uncle. Well, honorary uncle, really. Now that Scott was eighteen it was a weird thought to have someone he'd known since birth that looked nearly the same age as him. But uncle Jem was sort of special. He'd spent time with the order of the Silent Brothers; an elite brotherhood of Shadowhunters devoted to learning and the healing arts, and therefore Jem was virtually immortal, and his ageing process was nearly non-existent even though the ritual had been reversed.

He still looked exactly the same as he had when Scott had first met him, when he was a little boy. Uncle Jem was apparently over two hundred years old, and that just completely blew Scott's mind.

Scott couldn't imagine what it must be like to live that long, and see all his loved ones die. He didn't want to.

"We've had a call-out. Grandpa and the others are on their way." Scott looked his uncle up and down, taking in Jem's appearance and trying to work out if it was feasible to allow the older man enough time to put some sort of gear on. "Are you coming with us?"

Jem's raven hair, straight and shiny, with its white-silver streak, was floppy and curling about his chin; brushing the collar of a dark sweater, atop pale grey jeans. There was a stele strapped beneath the sleeve of the sweater; Scott could see the outline through the material, and he could also scent the sharp tang of steel that pointed towards the fact that Jem had a dagger of some description hidden on his person.

"Not this time, young Scott. I only dropped in to deliver Ruth's ingredients as I promised earlier. I heard the commotion with John, so I just went straight to her kitchen and put them away safely. I'm just going to go tell her so, and then I must get back to your Aunt Tessa."

Scott shrugged laconically. "Okay, your loss Uncle Jem! All the more demons for me to chew I guess." He patted his hidden stash of weapons. "If I don't run 'em through first of course"

Jem wrinkled his nose a little... "To each their own, but just watch what you chomp those teeth of yours on, young one... You might get a nasty surprise one day." Jem went to say something else, but he was suddenly cut off by a dark-haired blur, throwing himself at Jem's chest with a yell of delight.

"Uncle Jem!" Kent cried. "Are you coming with us to take care of the Marax demons? There are a lot of them and I'd like to learn some more about using the kindjals!"

Virgil, silent beside Scott, nodded in commiseration, adding a silent plea to his uncle using his thoughts, if Scott was to read the expression in Virgil's eyes right.

At the back of the group, Scott saw John hanging back. Scott edged round and spoke to him quietly. "Come on John, it's only Uncle Jem and you know it!

"I know, Scott, I know… but...he always looks at me like I'm not me… like he thinks I'm someone else or wants me to be…I know I apparently act like his lost parabatai whoever he was... but I'm not…"

"He doesn't bite as you well know, Johnny but I will, if you don't bloody say hello to him at least!"

"Hello, Uncle Jem," John mumbled quickly.

The older man heard the small uttering, and threw a warm glance at the young blonde. John blushed and smiled back, his nerves calmed a little by the small flick that Scott saw directed at his younger brother by Virgil's fingers.

Ignoring Kent, who he was now shooting excitable, rapid-fire statements at his grandfather; Jem ducked around Virgil, and tipped John's face up the couple of inches of height that separated them, to look the younger boy in the eye.

Scott looked on with interest, sensing that something was going to be revealed, though he wasn't sure what.

"I am very sorry Jonathan." Jem said softly. "I heard what you said to Scott just then, and I truly did not realise that I have been acting like that towards you. You see, you remind me of someone I knew many years ago now, both in temperament and in looks to a large extent, and I obviously was not guarding my expression as closely as I intended. For that I apologise. You are yourself, and nothing can change that. Sometimes, as you know, my years catch up with me, and I find myself ensnared in the past."

"Oh, really? Who is it?" Scott couldn't help blurting out. It wasn't often the restrained, quiet man indulged in confidences, and Scott was naturally curious.

He was therefore rather pleasantly surprised when Jem continued talking.

"You both remind me so much of ones I once knew, young Scott. You by your dark features, and Jonathan in his mannerisms, are the perfect mix of my childhood _parabatai_,William Herondale. In addition, John reminds me of one of Will's descendants; in both looks and colouring. He even shares his name.' Jem released his light grip on John's chin, looking sad.

'I was very close with him, once upon a time. I helped him with some problems in his younger years, much like I assist you two and your brothers. Sometimes it is hard for an old man to visually be reminded of friends lost, and again, I apologise for that boys.' Jem ran his slender fingers through his hair, and sighed.

'On that note, I must take my leave. Good luck, young Hunters, and may the Angel protect you." He gave a look of parting acknowledgement to Grant as he approached them, before turning and pacing swiftly down the corridor.

Scott looked after him in confusion, before exchanging a puzzled glance with John; shifting his gaze to Grant, who was looking startled and a bit grim, if Scott was reading his expression right.

"The man that you resemble John was nicknamed Jace." All the pieces in Scott's head suddenly connected with that sentence, even as Grant continued to speak. "… and he was my father-in-law; your Grandma Ruth's papa."

Scott nodded in realisation. That explained why John and Scott both reminded Jem of him then.

The five boys were descended from the Herondale family, as well as having blood from the Morgenstern, Lightwood, Fairchild and Penhallow lines, to a lesser extent. John and Scott both had the Lightwood family's blue eyes, with Scott having black hair, while John had inherited the white-blonde locks predominant in the Morgenstern line.

The red hair that both Grandma Ruth and their little brother Gordon had had was a throwback from the Fairchild branch; Jace's wife Clary. The twins' chestnut curls had come from the Penhallows in their mother's ancestry, among other features. Alan had the Herondale blue eyes, but now Scott thought about it properly, he realised that except for those eyes, his youngest brother was the one that most closely resembled their great-grandfather Jace.

That little bit of family history done and learned for the day, even by Virgil and Kent, who had been listening interestedly from where they stood at Grant's shoulders (presumably connecting the dots themselves), the five of them went to continue down the hall, towards the room where their Portal resided.

The door to the basement opened again though, interrupting their progress, and Ruth came through; unclad and unarmed but for her wooden spoon, stuck in the tie of her apron.

"I'm just here to see you off." she said firmly. "Then I'll continue my search for Allie."

All five heads nodded, minds now set on the task ahead. With barely a glance over his shoulder, Grant said, "Good luck with Alan, Ruth."

They made their way briskly to the basement where the portal was housed. Leading the way into the large underground room; walls covered floor to ceiling with artefacts, too ancient and precious to be on display, Scott took note of the books, amulets and other priceless relics of the past.

Scott stopped as he drew level with the big, circular, gold-coloured vault, set into the far wall of the room. It was very fancily engraved with the Nephilim motto: 'Facilis descensus averni ' (the descent into Hell is easy), and had runes all over it too, for warding and protection.

"Scott, open the door." Grant commanded.

Scott turned the locks, and placed his right hand on the markings. This proved that a Nephilim was truly gaining access, as it read the rune on the back of his hand. The door swung open to reveal a blue, iridescent mass of sparkling fluid.

Grant walked immediately through the portal without another word, the four boys following quickly in his wake.

Scott, bringing up the rear, heard his Grandma mutter from where she'd followed them, "…better I stay than the house burn while we're gone! One day you'll realise that..."

The portal cut off the rest of Scott's sight and other senses as he became enveloped in the cool blue liquid.

Next thing he knew was landing on a neglected, overgrown, downtown lot.

The sun was out, but the air was cold with the oppressive chill that the screeching, writhing clutch of demons let off as they scratched, bit, tore and dove at the humans that had been lounging there. There were cries and yells of distraught and terrified mundanes; trying to fight a menace they couldn't see.

The buzz of traffic on the other side of the high brick wall both insulated and isolated the mundanes on either side from the danger.

The scent of demons was all around, mixing with the rancid smell of rotting garbage and mouldering leaves, burning the sensitive skin of Scott's wolf's nose. Hating the stench of it, Scott snarled harshly at the sight of his brothers and grandfather already battling them, and set to work.


End file.
